


Ordinary Things

by Missy



Category: Laverne & Shirley (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bets & Wagers, Card Games, Episode: s08e01 Mummy's Bride, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Interrupted Wedding, Marital Chicken, Marriage of Convenience, Masturbation, Romance, Season/Series 08, Secrets, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vacation, Vibrators, Wall Sex, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23665267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: When Lenny impulsively proposes marriage to Laverne so he can win an old bet with Squiggy, she accepts to teach him a lesson - and a game of marital chicken ensues.  With each grand act, the two of them nudge each other closer - either to a real relationship or total war.Meanwhile, Shirley's ensuing marriage to Walter Meeney turns out to be a rushed affair for a surprisingly different reason.
Relationships: Laverne DeFazio/Lenny Kosnowski, Shirley Feeney/Carmine Ragusa, Shirley Feeney/Walter Meeney
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another oldie but goodie!

"What did you just say?"

Lenny Kosnowski made himself twenty times smaller against his wrought iron seat in Cowboy Bills. Opposite his seat, two green eyes glared out at him over the top of a stack of wedding invitations. "Uh - uh - duh..." 

Laverne DeFazio's lips turned up into a somewhat bitter smirk. "English, Len?"

He didn't want her to remember what he had said. "Uh - nice weather we're having?"

She grinned and picked up an envelope, sealing it with a heart-stopping flick of the tongue. "I think you said something about driving me to Vegas."

He felt his eyes open a little wider. "I did?" he had, without thinking.

"Uh huh." She reached for another envelope and sealed it.

"Oh," he sat up a little taller in his seat. "So what? You're busy...licking." She had turned him down twice - the likelihood of her saying yes to his spontaneous question was about the same as him becoming a handsome millionaire overnight.

She took a sip of her Pepsi, watching him. Then a luxurious bite of her burger. Chewing, she wiped her lips with a napkin; then picked up another invitation and sealed it with a much-more rapid flick of her tongue. He tried to look casual as he crossed one leg over the other to mask a painful arousal.

Desperate to avoid her provocative display, he searched around the room for something to foccus on. First, his eyes landed on Frank DeFazio, but the man's angry glare made him look away - damn, he'd forgotten how much he and Squig owed on their tab. Frank fed them out of loyalty, if not affection, but the thin crowd inhabiting Cowboy Bills that afternoon made Lenny remember that these weren't exactly the chain's best times. He looked up to the ceiling, finding a rabbit-shaped stain over his head. How had it gotten there? Hadn't he and Squiggy done that with a glass of Quick one morning a year ago? Squiggy was right -the tail was sort of lop-sided....

"...we could get my Pop to cater it."

Lenny snapped to immediate attention, cricking his neck in the process. "Huh?" he wondered, rubbing his now-sore neck.

Laverne sighed, rolling her eyes. "Len, you gotta learn how to pay attention to me," she smirked and picked up another invitation. "That's what married guys have to do."

"First you gotta learn to say stuff that's - HUH?" he almost fell out of his chair - luckily two strong hands reached out for him and yanked him back into his chair. Laverne brushed some imaginary dust off of his orange Hawiaan shirt. "Wah?" he blurted out, his head buzzing.

Laverne shrugged casually, sitting in her chair. "I said I'd marry you."

"Where?" he blurted out.

"Not in Vegas," she clarified. "Someplace smaller, nicer. Maybe I can convince Shirl to have a double wedding..."

Lenny felt sweat drip down the back of his neck. "But - I don't..."

"That way we could share all the expenses," she smiled. "I know you guys aren't doing so hot this month, Len."

"Gee," he said dourly, "what tipped you off?"

"Your fifty dollar tab - my Pop was ranting about to me yesterday," she said. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "You don't got to worry about supporting me - my job at Bardwells'll pay all the bills."

Lenny felt a chill run through him, and he yanked his hand away. "Ain't no one gonna support you, Laverne. That's my job." What was he saying?

"It's okay, Len - I don't got a lot of money nowadays, either - heck, none of us do. But that don't mean we can't enjoy a pretty big slab of wedded bliss."

Lenny rubbed his throbbing temples, and then began rubbing the bridge of his nose, a habitual action when he was under stress. Those words sounded an awful lot like his own, but he couldn't remember saying them. Darn ECT therapy... "You don't got to do this, Vernie."

"What?"

"You don't got to be with me if you don't wanna. I know this whole Doctor Walter thing is sudden and real fishy, but..."

"I don't wanna talk about Doctor Walter." A shadow danced across her eyes. "Anyway," she picked up the pile of invitations and her purse, "I gotta take these to the post office. Swing by the apartment tonight with a ring and we can talk some more about this..."

He grabbed her by the arm, hauling her back to the table. "Waitaminute," he said, standing up. "If you wanna get married to me so bad, why don't you kiss me goodbye?"

She paled slightly beneath her innocuous appearance. "Kiss you?"

"Uh huh - right on the lips." He puckered up and closed his eyes. The sudden impact of her body against his and her tongue in his mouth took him off-guard and nearly off of his feet. 

The embrace was brief but searing. She released him and he rocked backward on his heels. "See you tonight," she said lightly, her step frisky as she vacated the scene.

Lenny staggered back to his table, where Squiggy studied his beer glass intently. "What do I owe you?"

"A brass ring," Lenny decided. "And a bottle of Pepto."

***

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!"

Laverne winced, involuntarily covering her ears at Shirley's wail. "Relax," Laverne begged her friend. "I'm just doing this to teach Lenny a lesson about making bets on my sex life."

"Phew!" Shirley held her fluttering breast, causing her ring to glimmer brightly and ostentatiously. She frowned. "Sex life?"

"I tell ya, Shirl, I'm getting sick of the boys making fun of me 'cause I ain't married. Squiggy ain't dated a girl for more than a month straight - why does that make him a stud and me an old maid?"

Shirley shook her head reproachfully. "They have a way of looking at things negatively."

"I'm gonna get Len back. Remember last month? He said I was easy - going."

Shirley smirked, quickly hiding her amusement at Laverne's glower. "Yes, I remember that. How far are you planning on taking this, Vernie?"

"I know Len. After he gets his five bucks from Squig, it'll all be over."

"Speakin of five bucks, I need you to take these checks down to a caterer with me after lunch - what's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"I know that expression Laverne - that's your 'I don't know' face. I know you barely know Walter, but I'm a grown woman, and I'm completely in love with him."

"I didn't say anything about Walter," Laverne pointed out. 

"Or your sex life."

"I don't wanna talk about my sex life," Laverne said, kicking off her pumps and rubbing her aching toes. She hid her worries from Shirley - the worries Lenny had inadvertently stirred up in her that afternoon. Shirley and Walter's relationship was less than a month old, and her best friend was sporting a teeny-tiny diamond. Something felt strange in that set-up, but Laverne couldn't figure out what.

"I didn't even know you had a sex life," Shirley said, sounding sad about that fact. "We used to tell each other everything."

"We do."

"You have to have told someone. Rhonda? Rhonda knows about your sex life and I, your best friend since kindergarten, know nothing about it!"

"NO."

"Vernie, don't get mad - I just wanted to know if..."

"You're butting into my beeswax, so I'll but into yours - where did you meet Walter Meeney?"

"At the Armed Forces Mixer we went to in April. Remember, you left early with two very tall sailors who both called themselves Biff?"

Laverne flushed and stared at her knees. "That was a fun night."

"Yes, I bet it was."

"Don't you look down your nose at me!"

"I'm not looking down my nose at you, Vernie. As I said, you're my best friend. And if I didn't have you, you can imagine what kind of person I'd have to turn to in my time of need..."

The front door slammed open, but no "Hello" issued from the doorway. Instead, Lenny Kosnowski crossed the threshold, making a beeline to Laverne. He fell to his knees in front of her, and held out something small and glittery.

"Here's your ring." 

She looked down, but instead of a plain brass band Laverne was surprised to see a thin band encrusted with small emeralds. Despite herself, she gasped aloud as Lenny slipped it onto her ring finger.

"How much did this cost?"

"Forty bucks - it was everything I had left in the bank, but you're worth it." He kissed her noisily. "You got anything you want me to do?"

"Uh - yeah - can you run this down to the caterer? The address is on the envelope."

"Okay - see you later, my beloved."

Laverne watched Lenny leave. His words had been smooth artfully uttered, but there was no real romance behind them. Very unlike him. 

Shirley noted lightly, but Laverne's eyes were a million miles away. "You're doing it again - leading him on. You're going to hurt that boy, Vernie."

She stirred from her dream. "It's just a game. He knows I ain't gonna go through with it."

“You’re playing head games with him? Vernie, that’s a thousand times worse than what I thought!”

“Relax Shirl: I can handle him. I’ve always been able to handle him.”

"All right. If you know what you’re doing." Shirley yawned. "I need to get going on supper! What would you like?"

"Anything."

"I'll make fish sticks." Laverne barely moved. Her eyes were focused on the door as Shirley started crashing through the cupboards behind her.

"It's a nice ring."

"Huh?"

"It is a nice ring. And it certainly plays its part in another silly little joke by being bigger than mine."

Laverne had noticed that. She just hadn't dared to wonder out loud what it meant.


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you like the red one or the green one?"

Laverne pressed the red dress to her bosom, rolling down the top and looking down. "There ain't no room for my "L"."

Shirley surfaced, blowing out a breath of aggravated air. "Do you have to besmirch everything you own with a velveteen L?"

"I don't 'besmirch' things," Laverne paused, folding the red dress over and over again. "I make 'em better."

With her hip, Shirley pushed the door of the Bardwells' ladies section dressing room open. "Yes. Now, what do you think?"

Laverne looked her friend up and down and burst into laughter. 

"Honestly!"

"You look like a marshmallow!"

Shirley sat down on a small curved bench, crossing her legs. "This is the only one that didn't make my bosom disappear completely!"

"Never mind your 'bosom'." Laverne smirked. "It makes your fanny look like a snowman's."

Shirley growled, gingerly crossing her legs together. "This is the last one on the rack in my size."

Laverne reached for the navy blue frock, the second from the bottom in her pile. "Maybe it's a sign," she said, in a voice that was intended to be light, but came out ominously.

"Now, now..."

"Relax, Shirl," Laverne quickly stripped to her slip and put the dress on, "I'm only kidding." In reality, the last thing she wanted was to suffer through yet another speech about how and why Walter Meaney was an amazing, wonderful man. In reality, that was all she knew about Walter - he was a good man, a dependable tipper, a nice dancer, his kisses weren't too wet...

How he compared with Carmine, and why, she had no clue.

Carmine was the subject no one wanted to broach - and the fact that the entirety of Shirley and Walter's relationship had taken place during his two-week fishing trip said all she needed to know about Shirley's intentions toward her boyfriend. She had spent her conversations with Shirley dancing around the elephant in the room - when she wasn't being dragged off by Lenny to make another arrangement for their "wedding".

"Miss DeFazio!" a call came over the loudspeaker. "Please report to personnel. There is someone here to see you."

Shirley smiled as Laverne grumbled, tossing off the dress and putter her uniform back on. "Leonard is certainly...persistent."

"Persistent, whatta nice way to say he's being a pain in the butt. This is the third time he's interrupted my lunch break!"

"Now, I'm sure it's not entirely his fault. Because you won't nip this in the bud. Again."

"Shirl, there ain't no buds to nip - and I ain't interested in nipping Lenny's buds anyway - that sounds so wrong..."

"You know what else sounds wrong? Lenny. Crying. Have you ever had to wring out your blouse after he's had one of his little jags?"

"Too many times."

"Well, you don't want to give him yet another reason to cry, do you?"

"All right, all right - I'll break off our 'engagement' today." Laverne shouldered her purse and marched out of the dressing room. "Can you re-rack those for me, Shirl?"

"All right. I need to be alone with myself and the mirror." Shirley spun around in her dress, trying to find an angle that didn't make her look huge.

***

Lenny, his expression betraying exhaustion, managed a smile when Laverne finally appeared in personnel. He jumped up from the red leather cushions and pressed his lip to her right hand. "Hello, my love," he said, with exaggerated passion.

"Hi," she grunted. When he didn't let go, she yanked her hand free of his grip.

"You ready to go? I got the truck all gassed up, and I fixed the turn signal so it don't blink right when I wanna go left..."

"Where do you wanna take me?" Laverne groaned. "We already decided on the cake, the flowers, the reception hall..."

"I know, I know, I know, Laverne! All of that stuff is real important, but there's one thing we forgot."

"What?"

"We don't got nowhere to spend our honeymoon!"

Laverne groaned. "Lenny, I got something to tell you."

"Lemme show you this," he dug into his back pocket and pulled out a brochure. Flipping it open, Laverne saw a gorgeous-looking vinyard. "It's over in Sonoma Valley. They let you taste wine all week, and when they ain't bugging you with grapes you can stay in a big room with a sauna!"

She stared at the brochure, her good intentions suddenly dissolving. "Is that a whirlpool, Len?"

"Yeah," he nuzzled the back of her neck, lips just brushing the skin. "They got tubs shaped like Champaign glasses, and heart-shaped beds...."

She moaned before she could stop herself. The feeling of his breath on the back of her neck and his low voice were doing strange things to her, things they'd never done before...

"But," he stopped, voice suddenly normal again, "we gotta go drive out there to make sure they're on the up-and-up! You wanna go for the ride?"

The spell broke slowly, and she came back to herself with a quick shock of embarrassment. "Okay, alright - I only got an hour for lunch, though."

"No need to worry, Laverne - I'll have you back here in a jiffy!"

The hand yanking her out the door seemed to make that quite a display of truthfulness.

***

An hour later, Shirley was home, alone. "No, yes, I'm actually planning on it..." she nibbled her knuckle. "Please don't tell Walter - no, I want to surprise him. He can't know what's going on before we get married..." then, more urgently, she added. "I want to be the one to tell Walter I'm pregnant."

***

The inn was everything the brochure had promised, Laverne thought - gorgeous greenery for miles, the scent of country in the air tingling her nose with its unfamiliarity. Definitely worth the three-hour ride, she decided. The owner was a short, bald-pated man who was very eager to gain their business, judging from the amount of very good wine he'd given Laverne and Lenny to sample.

"...These are the highest-quality accommodations for a young couple desiring privacy on their honeymoon." He smiled, filling up the entryway arch of the winery's inn by force of charisma. "So - would you like to cut a deal?"

Lenny frowned, concentrating hard on the man's words - the amount of wine he'd had making it difficult. "How much for two days?"

"Our weekend packages run from one hundred to two hundred dollars."

Laverne's eyes widened. "Two hundred -” she grabbed Lenny by the lapels and whispered at the top of her lungs, "Len, I ain't even seen two hundred dollars in my whole life!"

Lenny smiled over her head. "Book us for the weekend of the twenty-eighth."

"LENNY!"

"Excellent, sir - we'll take a money-order or a personal check..."

"How about a COD?"

"CODs are fine."

After Lenny had made his deposit, Laverne dragged him away from prying eyes, cornering him next to a large pool. "Len, how can you afford this stuff? Are you and Squig into something illegal?"

"Nah - remember how Mister Shotz was gonna give him and me a promotion, and we was making really good money for about a week?" Laverne nodded. "Me and Squig split the money seventy-twenty, and I put my twenty into Shotz stock. I made about a thousand bucks when they sold out to Pabst..."

"You're wasting a thousand dollars on this wedding?" Laverne gaped. "You could do so much with that money, and you're..."

"I know it's a lot of money, but you're worth it, Laverne -" He took her hand between his. "I'm only gonna get married once my whole life, and I want it to be real special. Real special for you..."

He leaned in for a kiss, a wine-soaked half-conscious kiss. And Laverne realized she was going to do it - going to let him taste her lips and memorize the flavor of his, only because she wanted to remember what he felt like. The wine wasn't helping her sense of logic...

When his lips brushed hers, she saw a familiar shadow whistling its way down to the pool - in a heavy white chenille robe, possibly naked beneath it.

She dodged Lenny, resulting in him flopping into the pool, and as he paddled they both glared at the intruder, who stood motionless and white-faced in his fancy inn-bought robe.

"Having fun on your fishing trip, Carmine?" Laverne accused.


	3. Chapter 3

Carmine Ragusa's usually bold frame shrunk back, making him seem truly squat in his fancy hotel robe. "What're the two of you..."

Laverne heaved an irritated sigh, but before she could complete her sentence Lenny surfaced, pulling himself free of the pool and shuddering in the slightly cooler air. "Hey, Carmine!" he said, his voice bright and filled with a sharpness that was unfamiliar to Laverne. He frowned at their friend over his fiancée’s shoulder. "One of the mackerels ask you up for a drink?"

Carmine's expression showed the nominal disgust he usually felt for Lenny. "No, I'm here with..."

Laverne's eyebrow went up. "With who?" 

He shrunk back a little, perhaps remembering what a big container of cold juice felt like cascading down his pants. "A friend."

Looking him up and down, Laverne's irritation presented itself verbally. "What's her name, Carmine?" she snapped.

Carmine frowned. "How do you know it's a she?"

"I've known you since we were little kids, and when you lie your lip twitches," she smirked as Carmine grabbed at his vibrating lip. "How could you do this to Shirl?"

"She don't know," Carmine insisted, holding his face. "Laverne, don't tell her, please."

Biting her lower lip to hold back news of Walter, Laverne glowered at her old friend. It was Lenny's voice that echoed her thoughts. "Why shouldn't she? Don't Shirley got a right to know her guy's stepping out on her?"

"Because..." Carmine collapsed onto a deck chair, sighing mightily. "I'm doing this for her."

"Who're you doing?" Lenny asked, leaning in for the good word. "Ann-Margaret? Jane Fonda?"

Carmine sighed again, looking at the pool instead of Laverne's eyes. "Her name's Careen MacDermott."

"Careen..." Lenny savored the name in his mouth. "Ain't she that big time casting agent with Paramount?" Carmine nodded. "Ain't she eight hundred years old?"

Carmine laughed. "Yeah," he shook his head to stop himself. "She's casting around for the lead in this big new biopic on Rocky Marciano. She's been seeing everyone from Warren Beatty to Paul Newman and Steve McQueen," Carmine's expression showed some small amount of shame as he added, "I figured if I piled on the ol' Ragusa charm, she might pick me."

Laverne was rendered speechless in her anger, for she knew what Carmine considered the Ragusa charm - more accurately, the Ragusa charms. No wonder Shirley was rushing her wedding to Walter - Carmine had been out of town for two weeks, and he apparently planned on staying as long as it took to accomplish the mission! Her icy green eyes said everything, and Carmine continued his speech with eyes downcast. "I ain't lying - I'm doing all of this for her. Shirley's been waiting for a ring for a real long time. How many years is she gonna sit around and hope I'll get my act together?"

"Six months, minus two weeks," Lenny muttered.

"Shut up," Laverne muttered, but Carmine was so lost in his reverie that he didn't hear her admonishment. 

"I gotta make a big score," he squared his shoulders and added, "this is the best way to do it."

"By hooking?"

Carmine winced at Laverne's direct choice of words. "It ain't hooking. Carrine's a nice, old broad."

"Underline 'old'," Lenny concluded.

"...I only gotta put up with Careen for a little while longer. Next week, she's gonna decide who'll play Rocky," he rubbed his hands together. "then, I'll take my first check, buy a ring and pop the question." Carmine's husky laugh, which at the very least usually amused Laverne, this time made every nerve in her body stand on end.

"What else is Carrine giving you?" she wondered, looking at the plush robe and seeing the glimmer of a ruby ring on his hand. They met eyes and he had the decency to look away and blush. She crossed her arms primly and shook her head.

"That look don't work on me. You ain't Shirley."

Laverne narrowed her eyes. "You think she'd be happy that you're running around with some girl for some lousy money?"

"You know the rules; she's allowed to date other people..."

"I already know the speil, Carmine," Laverne snapped. "I thought things were different now."

"You kidding me? It costs twice as much to buy a diamond here as it did in Milwaukee!"

Laverne moaned and rubbed her temples as she desperately resisted the urge to clean Carmine's clock until common sense returned to his noodle. 

Lenny voiced her thoughts once more. "D'you take one too many punches to the head? Shirl'll kill you if she finds out you got the money for her ring by playing around with a mummy girl!"

"Caarrr -mine!"

The shrill sound of a heavy Swedish accent caused all three friends to spin around and face the open doorway leading into the pool area. "I gotta go - you don't wanna hear what she sounds like when she's really excited...You gonna be a pal, Laverne?"

Her eyes darkened. "You gonna get back in town by the end of the week?"

"I swear - I'll roll around in fish to get the right stink and everything."

The wheels in Laverne's mind churned as she calculated the days, realizing that if Carmine kept his word, he would have plenty of time to talk Shirley out of marrying Walter. She relaxed perceptibly. "Okay. I won't let on. But you gotta see Shirl when you get home, first thing." 

"Yeah, okay," Carmine muttered, as Careen let loose with another ear-shattering shriek. Like a mouse, he walked back in the direction of the older woman's voice.

There was an indescribable chill in Laverne's bones as she and Lenny walked companionably back to his truck. They plodded through the muddy side-streets leading back to the smooth pavement of the interstate, Lenny whistling obliviously. It grated her nerves and convinced Laverne to shut him out. Isolated, her mind churned in vain against the fact that Carmine was cheating on Shirley - yet again - and that Shirley was marrying another man she probably didn't love and barely knew.

The endless confusion her friends had mired themselves in made her dizzy. Damn it, why couldn't they be honest and spare each other all of that heartache...

"You want dinner?"

She looked up abruptly. "I ain't thought about food for hours."

Her words must have come out harshly, because he winced. "Geez, you don't got to bite me on the melons." He grinned. "Unless you want to."

"Lenny!" she snarled.

His face fell a little. "You don't want one of those sexless marriages, do you? 'Cause I'm kinda potent, and I need..."

She rolled her eyes. "I could go for something. Ain't there a diner a couple of miles up the road?"

He beamed at her proudly. "I saw it when we passed, too. See, we make a good team!"

She rolled her eyes again and huffed in frustration.

Once they reached the diner Lenny went into gentleman mode, helping her out of the car and over a mud puddle forming in a large pothole on the dirt lot. It had begun to rain and they were both soaked by the time they reached the front door - he took her jacket and helped her into the booth, allowing her to study the plastic-coated menu before he had his turn.

He ordered at the counter - burgers, fries, onion rings. When he returned with two milkshakes - chocolate - she felt a little sunnier in her sopping clothes.

"Did you like the wine place?" Lenny asked idly.

"Uh - it was nice."

"Did you wanna go somewhere else? I could borrow some dough from Squig and we could get to Brooklyn..."

She smiled despite herself at the thought of Brooklyn - then remembered herself. "Nah - it's too cold for a honeymoon over there."

He watched her over his milkshake, sucking thoughtfully on his straw. Swallowing, he shrugged. "It'd be fine. We ain't gonna make it out of bed for the first couple of days anyway."

Laverne nearly choked on her milkshake, then roared so loudly the grubby gang of truckers on the surrounding counter seats turned and briefly looked at their booth. She blushed and stayed perfectly quiet until conversation began again. "Three whole days? Len, I think you're blowing hot air up my skirt."

He grinned. "I do more than that if you'd give me a chance, Vernie."

She snorted again and patted his free hand as it lay flat on the table. "Len, come on - no guy can keep that up for three days..."

His smile took on a hint of grime...a calloused hand found her knee beneath the table and began to rub it, slowly, circularly. "You ain't been with me, Vernie..." the fingers tickled the vulnerable softness hidden in the crook. "I know girls. You gotta treat them gentle...touch 'em real light in the places no one else ever does..." The hand went up her thigh and rested - she, absorbed in the words and the warmth of hard fingers, did not think to move it. "You gotta take a long time until they're crazy for it. So even if it don't last three days, it feels like it did..." He stopped talking, his blue eyes vivid in a face turning red. She wasn't aware of anything but the suspense between them, which dissolved with the appearance of a green-uniformed, brassy-haired waitress who dumped their meals onto the Formica table.

Lenny came out of his own seductive trance and blushed fiercely - the hand that had once been hers resurfaced and grabbed the burger with the vivid eagerness of a child. He took a big bite and watched as she started in on her french fries. 

His attentiveness annoyed her, as always. Denying the flutter of her heart and the light thrumming between her legs, she fixed him with a hard glare. "What do you know about what it's like for a girl?" 

In a silly tone that was pure Lenny, he replied, "Try dating 'em for fifteen years. They make you care or cut you off." He nibbled on his French fries. The smile became sleazy again. "Hey Vernie - you know I went with this prison matron once. That's how I learned my ABC's," he said. His pink tongue came out from between pillowy lips and licked quickly in the air - a b c. This moment of boldness cost him his nerve and he began to stuff the meal into his mouth eagerly.

She looked away, denying him the joy of realizing he'd piqued her physical interest. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Laverne Marie DeFazio don't wanna talk about sex?" he clucked his tongue. She didn't respond with the expected sarcasm and his look softened. "You still mad at Carmine?"

"You think I shouldn't be?"

"He thinks he's making things good for Shirl."

Laverne shook her head. "What he thinks and what Shirl wants are two different things, not that he's asked her."

"Shouldn't they talk about that?"

She nodded. "Shirley's all wrapped up in Walter."

"They're getting married...that's how people in love should act." he said, smile almost too sweet.

"You know the way Shirl is. She's always thinking and being careful 'cause her mom married her pop on the spur of the moment and she don't wanna go down that path." Laverne nibbled her spare lower lip. "This whole Walter thing started two weeks ago and now she wants to marry him? It don't make sense."

"Maybe they're all caught up in love, like a salmon."

Laverne shook her head. "Walter ain't the type to start spawning out of marriage, either - see what you made me say? I just don't know - I feel like I can't trust what's going on with my own eyes."

"Why don't you ask Shirl about it tonight?"

"She don't like it when I criticize Walter."

"Don't criminize him. Just check and make sure that Shirl's really in love."

Laverne shook her head. "Carmine better get back soon - they gotta straighten everything out, or Shirl won't be able to get married with a clean conscious."

"Cleanliness and Marriedness don't got nothing to do with each other," he lifted a fry to his mouth pressed it to his lips - only she could see him lick it. a b c.

***

He insisted on walking her to her door back at Laurel Vista, where Shirley's voice met them calling up from the couch.

"Miss Zionne is out for blood." Shirley said, without even trying for "hello".

Laverne winced - their supervisor, the bitch. "Did you tell her I was on a long lunch?" She shoved away Lenny's sheltering hands and unbuttoned her own pea coat.

"Yes, a very long lunch. You have to cover for Aileen on Saturday to make up your hours or get docked."

"Shit," Laverne muttered under her breath, Lenny snickering, the only one to hear it. He helped her out of her jacket nearly against her will, but Laverne felt grateful to flop down on the side chair to struggle her way out of her now-mud-ruined one hundred dollar black go go boots.

"I gotta get back to my place - me and Squig are gonna book the bachelor party tonight!"

Shirley looked up from her tuna sandwich, eyes locked on Laverne. "I see the wedding is still on."

"Oh yeah! Hey, you think Doctor Walter'd like a double slab o' wedded bliss?" he put his arm around Laverne and mugged shamelessly at Shirley. 

"Lenoard, I'd like to finish my lunch in peace," she requested.

"That means scram," Laverne added.

"Vernie, Vernie, Vernie," he sighed patiently, "I'm your fiancé now! You don't gotta throw me out whenever you and Shirl start talking about private stuff!" He lept onto the couch and wrapped a brotherly arm around Shirley's neck. "Now that we're gonna be in-laws Shirl, I just wanted you to know - I never ever thought about you as a feminine prospect."

Shirley grimaced. "I'm flattered."

"It ain't like you're not sta- that you don't got nice dimples, but I wasn't never gonna go after you. That'd be hunting on Squiggy's turf." He nodded his head wisely.

"Get out!" Laverne ordered.

"Hey, don't yell at me!" Laverne had grabbed him by the collar and shoved him toward the door. "Watch it!" he yowled. "This is real a hundred per cent naw-go-hyde!"

"To answer your question, Leonard, Walter and I are going to be married at the base's chapel in a civil service - I don't think the gratuity covers ceremonies for extra parties."

Laverne and Lenny locked eyes. The mood between them had changed so swiftly that Lenny left willingly and without another word.

Barefoot now, Laverne approached her friend tentatively. "Shirl, you ain't getting married in the church?"

Shirley was suddenly very interested in her tuna.

"Shirl..." Laverne whined, in a tone that made her friend's left eye twitch. "You waited to wear white for almost sixteen years so you could have a big wedding and you're gonna get married on an army base?"

"It's the easiest way," Shirley explained. "Walter and I had a long discussion about it..."

"What about me? We been best friends since we was five - don't I rate a discussion about your dreams?"

"Laverne, sometimes dreams have to be modified - to get married, I have to be married at an army base, plain and simple. But, that means we can have a nice reception and I can have the gown of my dreams."

"But this ain't what you always wanted, and Walter..."

"Walter's what I want..."

"Are you sure?"

She picked up her sandwich plate and carried it upstairs. "I told you not to ask me that again."

"Hey, I ain't done talking to you!"

"Excuse me, Laverne, but I'd like to eat my dinner in peace and quiet upstairs." She walked the short flight upstairs and slammed closed the bedroom door.

Huffing and pouting, Laverne balled up her fists and shouted, "I HOPE YOUR PICKLE GETS ALL SOGGY!" With no response, she grumbled and tossed herself down on the couch, the weight of fresh news on her shoulders dragging her down.

A good eight-minute sulk later, her stomach began to rumble. She glanced furtively at the kitchen and decided against trying to cook - her last attempt had scorched all of Shirley's new Stonecast pans. Chinese delivery sounded pretty good, she reasoned, and began pulling open drawers near the phone to locate their stash of menus.

She finally found the Wong Foo's menu in the table drawer right beneath the phone...and under that pile she found a curious glass bottle with a blue label on it.

She held it up to the light and read:

_Prescribed to: Shirley Wilhelmina Feeney  
By: Doctor Grant Updike, OBGYN_

The rest was gobbledygook, but the final line caught Laverne's eye and dropped her jaw:

_Take two a day every day with food through the third trimester..._

Laverne was up the stairs and at the bedroom door in four seconds. She smacked her palm against it but the door unexpectedly pivoted open, unlocked.

"Shirl," she said, her roommate's angry expression melting upon seeing the bottle of vitamins in her best friend's hand.

Shirley lay draped upon her quilt, sobbing against the pillows.

Without asking another question, Laverne walked to the bed, moved the half-eaten tray of tuna fish and took her best friend into her arms. For long minutes she held Shirley and the young brunette cried, and the entire time Laverne vacillated between wanting to shake and hold her.

"It'll be okay, Shirl," Laverne finally lied. "You'll break this thing up with Walter - he probably ain't gonna take it too well at first, but I'm sure he'll understand when you say you're in trouble..."

Shirley rubbed her red eyes with the back of her hand. "It's not Walter's baby," she said. Meeting Laverne's knowing gaze, she sighed. "I never can lie to you."

"What's going on, Shirl?"

She leaned against Laverne's right shoulder. "Do you remember the night you went out with Michael?" Michael...Laverne felt a flash of embarrassment, unable to recall who Michael was. Shirley sighed. "Tall, dark hair, violet eyes, had a limp."

"Ohh! Micky! That was the night I came back after three and you were in the kitchen making cereal and humming Carolina in the Morning..." Laverne trailed off. "You...he..." Shirley nodded. "That was two months ago. You and Carmine've been...for two months..."

"Yes," Shirley muttered. 

"But why? Why now?"

"It just sort of happened one night." Shirley said. "He's been ready for years, and I've always considered it on and off," she played with the hem of her skirt and added, "I thought we'd been getting somewhere and he suddenly took off on this fishing trip!"

"I don't believe I'm gonna say this, but you gotta think about Walter, Shirl."

"He already knows." Laverne's head snapped up in surprise. "Walter's sterile - he had the mumps as a child. He also knows everything about Carmine. Walter loves children, Vernie - he'd be a good daddy."

"But he's not a daddy - Carmine is."

"I know," Shirley said. "And I don't know how to tell him about this."

"Simple: dump Wally and wait for Carmine to come back."

"It's not that simple."

"You don't love Walter."

"Walter's as close to love as I'm going to get."

"Shirl..."

"Vernie, he's a kind man, and so smart. He's practical and we have a lot of things in common, and a lot of the qualities I've always been looking for..."

"That's a chess buddy, not a friend."

"We could grow to love one another."

"Shirl, you're making a big mistake."

"What's the worse mistake, Vernie?" Shirley said, helplessly. "Carmine and I haven't been able to go steady for more than five months at a time. He wasn't interested in getting married when he left on this trip, and if he proposes now..." She rested her hand against her belly. "It would be a shotgun wedding. He's not in love with me, Vernie - he didn't want to marry me when I wasn't pregnant."

"I really think you should wait, Shirl," Laverne wheedled, trying to figure out a way to tell Shirley about Carmine's proposal without revealing everything about his 'fishing trip'.

Shirley's mood changed instantly. "The way you're 'waiting' for Leonard."

Laverne's pity for Shirley began to decrease. "Shirl..."

"Walter and I have one advantage over yourself and Lenny," Shirley said primly. "We're not playing some sort of game of chicken with our feelings."

"At least I ain't gonna play house with some guy I barely know!"

Shirley flinched at that statement. "I'm not in the mood to argue with you, Vernie. I think you should leave for awhile," she said primly.

"FINE!" Laverne had forgotten all about her hunger as she paced out of the room. Halfway downstairs, she wondered where she would go - a bar? No - she wasn't in the mood for a drink. If she couldn't talk to Shirley, she always automatically turned to...

maybe she should. They were still friends, after all...

Second thoughts arrived as she knocked on Lenny's door, but by then it was too late.


	4. Chapter 4

Laverne knocked heavily on the door, wondering for the millionth time why she'd decided to go to him of all people. 

"Waah?" a whiny voice came from inside.

"Lenny, it's Laverne."

The sound of cardboard hitting metal and fabric rustling filled the air. She masked a smirk as he threw open the bolts and took up space in the doorway, wearing his ridiculous red smoking jacket. "So, you decided to come up for a little nightshirt?"

She rolled her eyes. "Go stick your head under the faucet," she retorted. "I needed someone to talk to."

He eyed her with a little smile on his face, but when she didn't return the gesture he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. As she sat down, he crossed the distance and took a seat across from her. "What's wrong?"

"It's Shirl," she took a deep breath. "She's in trouble."

It took Lenny a long minute to absorb that news before whooping. "That's great! Carmine's gonna be so happy!"

Laverne shook her head. "She's still gonna marry Walter."

Lenny's face fell. "Why?"

"Because she and Carmine've been...yanno...for awhile now. He didn't wanna marry her back then, so she thinks if she tells him he's gonna propose outta guilt."

"But Carmine's already gonna ask her!"

"She don't know that - and if we tell her she's gonna find out he's not on a fishing trip," Laverne bit her lower lip. "What should I do, Len?"

He took a long minute to think, then said, "nothing."

Laverne's eyes widened. "Gee, great advice - I either let Shirl wreck her life by marrying some guy she don't really know, or I let her think she's settling for less by marrying a guy who really does love her, but don't know she's in trouble."

"Carmine's a stand-up guy; it won't matter to him that he knocked her up."

Laverne barely winced at Lenny's choice of words. "I know, but it matters to Shirl. She don't think Carmine really loves her."

"That's a load of baloney. We both know Carmine licks the ground she walks on."

"Yeah," Laverne smiled mistily. "But let's face it - they've been together since they was fifteen years old. If he didn't ask her the time she nearly died, why should she think he's gonna ask now?"

"Carmine's good at waiting," Lenny said quietly.

"Yeah - but this time he's waiting too long...why do you think I shouldn't say nothing to Shirl?"

"Vernie, whenever you try to help Shirl with some big kissy-kissy problem she has, she always turns around and gets mad at you for sticking your nose into it."

"So?"

"So why make Shirl mad at you? If you tell her you saw Carmine, she'll get mad at him and get mad at you for not telling earlier. If you keep telling her not to marry Walter, she ends up all alone like Tina in _Teenage Mother,_ having to work at a go-go bar with her baby in a sling over her tip belt..."

Laverne smiled. "Shirl don't wear pigtails."

Lenny grinned back at her. "But she'll blame you for not letting her marry Walter. So whatt're you gonna do?"

"I dunno...I guess I should just keep my trap shut and see how things work out with Walter." She smiled at him tenderly. "Thanks, Len - that was a lot of help."

He smiled back. "Any time, Vernie."

She got up to leave and felt him behind her. "Yanno," he said, "now'd be a great time for a little thank-you kiss..."

Lenny got that kiss five seconds later...from the door.

***

"Twenty-eight, thirty, thirty-two, thirty-four, thirty-six, thirty-eight, forty!" Laverne tossed the rest of the money into a bank bag and closed and locked her register. "I'm beat, Shirl; you wanna get takeout at Burger City?"

Shirley emerged from the small employee bathroom at the back of the wrapping room, her face white and drawn. "Don't mention food to me," she requested quietly. 

Laverne studied her with curious worry. "You wanna go home and have some tea?"

Shirley nodded, then her eyes widened. "Oh no!" Laverne had a wastebasket before her mouth in seconds, but Shirley pushed it away. "Walter called me this morning! He asked if you wanted to go on a double date over at Wong Foo's, dutch treat!"

Laverne's interest piqued; she'd only met Walter once, and at that briefly. "You sure you can handle it?"

"I'm less nauseous," Shirley replied. "He said we should be there by six."

Laverne spared a glance at the clock and immediately began to panic. "It's five-thirty!"

"Relax," Shirley urged. "Wong Foo's is very casual, remember? We can go straight from work."

"Okay," Laverne mentally counted the amount of money left in her purse and decided it was a doable endeavor. "Waitaminute - who'm I gonna get to go with me? This is next to no notice."

Shirley squirmed a little. "Well," she laughed. "This is a funny story, Vernie, you're gonna laugh...I was telling Walter about how you and Lenny have been talking about getting married, and we were talking about how funny it is...and he said to bring Lenny."

Laverne's eyes bugged out. "SHIRL!"

"You did say it was short notice!" she cried out unhelpfully. "Besides, you and Lenny have been out together plenty of times before."

"This is different! He thinks he's going to marry me!"

"Yes," Shirley said, eyeing the diamond Laverne sported on her left ring finger.

Laverne hid it against the rough material of the bank bag. "We been through this."

"Yes, but it doesn't stop you from bringing up Walter over and over," Shirley pointed out.

"All right - let's make a pact," Laverne said. She spat on her thumb and held it out; Shirley did the same, reluctantly. 

Together they said, "I solemnly swear not to say anything bad about Lenny or Walter for the rest of the night."

"That's gonna be hard," Shirley said - frowning as she wiped her spit-covered thumb with a Kleenex.

"We'll make it," Laverne said, retrieving her purse. "We gotta stop by the bank and deposit this before we go, so move it or lose it."

"All right," Shirley grabbed her coat from the cloak room and tossed Laverne's hers. "Wong Foo's is less than a block from here and the bank is right next door - we've gotta hoof it if we're going to meet up with Walter. Lord knows I don't want another lecture," she added.

"He lectures you?" Laverne asked curiously, lifting the partition cordoning them off from the exit. 

Shirley rose and rested her shoulders. "He doesn't yell or threaten, but he is a sophisticated gentleman who expects me to behave like a sophisticated gentlewoman."

"Of ninety," Laverne murmured.

"You promised," Shirley whispered.

Laverne didn't add anything to that as she grabbed their purses and they headed out the door.

**

"...I'm sorry!" Laverne blustered as they rushed through the front door of Wong Foos.

"You don't need to apologize," Shirley said, her face just slightly green. "I know the bank is a nightmare after six."

"But you had to toss your cookies in a potted plant..."

"PLEASE don't mention cookies," she muttered, leaning against Laverne's shoulder as they passed through the restaurant's waiting booth and into its main body.

Wong Foo's, to Laverne's shock, was jammed with people waiting on red polyurethane benches. She smiled benignly as she bumped into knees and tripped over stretched-out feet, dragging Shirley behind her.

"LAVERNE!" she heard Lenny yell - he had staked out two flimsy teakwood chairs near the dark-colored reservation desk; she smiled at him benignly and made her way over.

"Hey Len," she reluctantly pecked him on the cheek and sat directly beside him; she saw Walter sitting across the way and he smiled in return. "Walter, how are you?"

He took her hand and shook it briskly, "good evening, Laverne - you came from work, I see." Walter Meeney was a dark-haired and heavily-mustached man of about forty, with dark charm and roughly-hewn facial features. When Shirley silently hugged and sat beside him, Laverne was stricken by their age difference - to the unobservant, Walter could be Shirley's father. 

"I forgot to tell her about dinner," Shirley added.

"Now, Shirley - didn't I tell you to write down your appointments?"

"I do write down my appointments," Shirley retorted. "But I was at work when you called, dear."

"You could have scribbled it down on your hand, darling."

"I don't want to put ink on my skin, dearest."

Lenny cut in quickly, "You should try the pu-pu platter here, Wally; it's fantastic."

"Please, call me Walter," he said flatly.

Lenny shrunk back, and Laverne felt a little sorry for him; almost without thinking, she reached over to squeeze his hand. 

"Meeney, table for four," said a small, dark-skinned man who seemed to be of Indian descent. The two couples were led into the spacious main dining room and found themselves reading thick brown leather-bound menus.

Wong Foo's was swanker than Laverne could have imagined. With colorful lanterns lining the wall and clean red tablecloths, it looked almost elegant. At the very center of the room was a stone fountain with a carved Buddha at the center, the bowl of it filled with fake water lilies, and there was a small stage with a green curtain where karaoke parties were held during happy hour.

"How's about that pu-pu platter?" Lenny asked.

"You only wanna eat that so you can say 'pu-pu'," Laverne retorted.

"I do not! It's got everything! Look, wings and fingers!" he thrust the menu at Walter, who winced away.

"He can see it, Leonard," Shirley retorted. "How about Chicken Chow Mein?"

"That sounds good to me," Laverne reasoned, knowing that something like chow mein was unlikely to further upset Shirley's stomach.

"Okay," Lenny turned and met a redheaded waitress with gray eye shadow waiting patiently at the side of the table. "Could you get us one pu pu platter and one large chicken chow mien, please? And tell the kitchen you want a MISTER KOSNOWSKI SPECIAL."

That sparked recognition in their waitress. "Yes, sir!"

"Lenny!" Laverne snapped. 

"It's all right," Walter sighed. "I was sort of in the mood for ribs, princess, I wish you'd asked."

"I'm sorry - my stomach has been bothering me all morning. Little Wally doesn't seem to like anything I put in my mouth," Shirley said, meekly.

"Little Wally?" Lenny wondered.

"Did anyone order drinks?" Laverne asked, watching their waitress retreat through the masses toward the kitchen.

"Aww crap," Lenny muttered, "LADY!" he bellowed, but didn't draw her attention.

"It's okay - I'll get her," Walter said as he stood.

"One glass of red wine," Laverne said. 

"I'll take a Shotz," Lenny said.

"Ginger ale," Shirley murmured.

Walter nodded, running after their waitress.

As Walter left, Laverne and Lenny gave Shirley a quick, sharp look that she ignored. "I like to be taken care of," she said.

"That's a little more than being taken care of, Shirl."

"Promises, Laverne?" Shirley said pointedly.

Laverne grumbled, settling down. Shirley stood.

"Where are you going?"

"Ladies' room," she said flatly, taking off. As Laverne stood to go after her, the wild sound of thrumming bongos came over the loudspeaker. "Oh boy!" Lenny said, "here comes my surprise!"

"What surpris-eee!" Laverne yelped as a man dressed in a stereotypical Polynesian outfit; a colorful sarong, sandals and a necklace with a mock-skull in the center, complete with grass skirt, twirling a burning torch, ran through the masses and right to the stage. He was followed by three more, men of delicious build, all of whom made quite a display of their artistry; soon four men were twirling torches and climbing on one another’s shoulders. Through the kitchen came a waiter who carried the pu pu platter. With great ceremony, he placed it on the table; it was surrounded by candles spelling out "For Laverne, Love Lenny." One of the juggling fire twirlers lit the center torch and the platter of candles with surprising ease. They continued their display as a man in a Hawaiian shirt entered through the kitchen, playing "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" quite dramatically on a ukulele. Laverne looked over at Lenny; he grinned and toasted her with a cup of what looked like red punch.

From behind them, they heard a horrified shriek.

"Oh dear - stop it! Stop it!" Shirley called to the jugglers as she returned.

"What's the matter?" Laverne asked.

"Walter was in the Korean war - fire causes him to have flashbacks!"

As if on cue, Walter emerged from the kitchen and let out a shriek of horror at the sight of the jugglers. By the time Shirley reached him he was at the center of a throng of concerned waiters, who protected his hunched-over form.

Walter called, "Charlie! Charlie Bravo 6-0-6!"

"I'd better take him home..." Shirley said, picking him up with surprising ease and dragging him toward the back door.

"But, but..." Laverne sputtered. She turned around to see Lenny's smile was a few watts dimmer.

He held up his index finger. "Check, please."

***

No words were exchanged until Laurel Vista was in sight. "Was it a little funny?" Lenny asked as he parked the car.

"No," Laverne said coldly, diving out of the passenger side door.

Lenny's voice cut through the semi-suburban silence of the neighborhood. "Aww, come on Laverne - I didn't know Walter was crazy, honest! Didn't you like it a little itty bitty bit?"

Laverne pivoted on her heel. He stood behind her on the sidewalk, looking at her with great hope. 

She softened. "Well...it was kinda neat. How'd you get those torch guys?"

"Squig picked 'em up at a cattle call," Lenny said. "I told them I was a big time Hollywood agent and this was their audition..." Laverne heaved in disgust. "Why're you mad? They're from Uruguay! Wait!" he cried out, diving between her and her front door. He took a deep breath and said, "Vernie, I'm sorry."

"How sorry?"

"REAL sorry."

Laverne pursed her lips. "Okay, I forgive you. But you gotta stop acting like a dope, Len," a wicked thought entered her mind and she grinned. "You've gotta practice being a grown-up for when we have kids."

He paled; parenthood had always been an unknown quantity to Lenny. "Kids?"

"Well yeah - I want at least twelve..."

"TWELVE?"

"Sure," she forced her eyes to go dreamy, "and we can give 'em all 'L' names; Lenny Junior, Laura, Lisa, Lena, Lionel, Lawrence, Lucas, Luna, Lavender..." she trailed off. "Laverne Junior..."

Lenny had turned a little bit paler. "I was thinking maybe 'Adam'..."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "But we gotta wait until the honeymoon. After that, we can start making our babies..." with that, she grabbed him to her and gave him a hard, blood-stirring kiss.

Ignoring her own tingling nerves and flushed skin, she took a moment to see him standing there. He stood there, panting and glaring at her, his erection obvious as she opened the door.

"Night Len," she said minxishly, closing the door on his groan. 

Alone in the apartment, she grinned. Her power was back. Now, what to do with it....


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of Shirley groaning brought Laverne to swift wakefulness from a deep sleep. She stumbled out of bed and tapped on the bathroom door. "Shirl?" A heavy groan was her only answer. "Should I call the d-Walter?"

Every word came out deliberately. "No...this is normal..."

"I'm gonna go make some tea. You want some crackers?"

Another moan. Not quite sure what she could do for her friend, Laverne put on a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt, then headed downstairs to put a kettle on.

Waiting for water to boil had to be the most boring activity known to man. She forced herself to ignore Shirley's groaning and poured a large bowl of Sugar Smackers, figuring that anything Shirley couldn't smell wouldn't hurt her.

As she sat down to a lonely breakfast, a teeny tiny part of Laverne was glad that it wasn't her up there, groaning over the toilet. After taking an almost childish zeal in trying them out, lately she'd been lax in taking her pills since there wasn't a 'special guy' on the horizon. Shirley's nightmarish morning sickness had encouraged Laverne right back on the responsibility wagon; she reached into the pocket of her robe, withdrew the plastic disc and took one with her morning cocoa.

By the time Laverne finished with her breakfast, Shirley staggered downstairs, tightly wrapped in her pink robe. "Can I do anything?" Laverne fretted, helping her best friend to the couch and pulling a lap blanket over Shirley's prone form.

"No - this is just nature taking it's ugly course," Shirley grumbled, rubbing her eyes. Laverne rushed into the kitchen and returned with a laundry-pan sized washtub, which they normally used to let their bathing suits drip-dry after a day on the beach. Shirley rested it on the floor, in case of further gastric upset. "Thank goodness it's Saturday - I can spend the day down here watching TV."

"Sounds like fun," Laverne grinned, vaulting into the side chair with a great amount of enthusiasm. "First, we can watch Sky King, then Howdy Doody, then Double Indemnity's on the Afternoon Movie!"

"Barbara Stanwyke is so awful in that film," Shirley shuddered.

Laverne shrugged. "Murders are supposed to be awful."

"True." Shirley closed her eyes and - with the utmost carefulness - rolled onto her right side, facing the TV. While Laverne eagerly watched Sky King, her best friend fell to sleep.

Laverne kept an eye on her drawn-looking best friend, but her worry over Shirley couldn't stop her childish enthusiasm for Saturday morning TV. When Clarabelle Clown appeared on her set, someone began to knock on her door. Laverne gingerly shut off the set and slipped over to answer it.

Though she was no mystic, Laverne could have predicted who was standing there. "Lenny?" she wondered.

He stood on her doorstep in his best suit, bearing a handful of daisies and a wide grin. "Hey, Vernie," he yelped, "you busy?"

She shoved him into the hallway and closed the door behind her. "Shirley's sleeping, be quiet!"

"Oh," Lenny whispered, "sorry! Can you come out today?"

Laverne bit down on her lower lip. Shirley would probably sleep all afternoon - she didn't have a date lined up and being alone didn't sound like a worthwhile way to spend a nice afternoon. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Well, we still got a million things to talk about when it comes to the wedding..."

Tension yanked her head up. "We've talked about the cake, the flowers, the invitations, the guest list, the honeymoon, the favors, the dresses, the groomsmen and bridesmaids, the band, the reception site, the church, the minister, the limos, the pictures and the food. What else do we gotta talk about?"

He thrust out his daisy-filled hand and said. "About when we're gonna spend some time together alone."

"Lenny..." she eyed the daisies. "Did you get these outta my window box?"

"Yeah - this was kinda spur-of-the-miniature." She cautiously took the daisies, examining them for bugs while he stood back, wide-eyed. "You wanna go to the park? I'll bring my guitar - you can bring yours."

Laverne tilted her head and looked at him. What sort of mind-trick was he trying to pull on her? She resisted the temptation to lower the boom on their little game. "I guess. You wanna drive out to Griffith? It's nicer than Columbus beach," Laverne pointed out. 

Lenny thought briefly. "Okay. Get your guitar and meet me at the truck. We can busk for honeymoon mad money!"

"All right," Laverne said lightly. She slipped inside, grabbed her guitar and purse, and locked the door behind her for Shirley's safety.

Laverne wondered what she was doing as she headed outside. For someone who wasn't interested in what Lenny was offering she was spending a lot of time with him. Not a new development in a relationship that had always involved a lot of hanging out.

She wasn't accepting marriage from him, she reminded herself for the millionth time in the past few days - the wedding would never take place. Lenny knew it, and she knew it, they were both just having too much fun teasing each other. And she was having way too much fun being teased, Laverne admitted to herself silently. Soon, she would let him down easy - but not too easy, she thought, remembering his jibes about her 'old maid' stateus. 

Her smile held an edge of determined viciousness when she saw him next.

***

Griffith Park was overcrowded with dancers, musicians and dope sellers, all "grooving" out in the summer heat. Leftover beatniks melded with mod children who stared at plucked marigolds with the deep hope they might spout the wisdom of the universe.

Laverne loved this place, mostly because it was filled with wild noise and interesting people. "Lookit that, lookit this!" she exclaimed as she dragged Lenny through clusters of gathered teenagers, all of whom waved at them happily.

Lenny, slightly shyer, shrunk back and offered them a wave or two. There was another reason they couldn't be together, Laverne thought. He was so meek, and she needed a bold man who wasn't afraid of taking what he wanted. Maybe she'd read too many romance novels, she chastised herself, because not every man she dated fit that criteria. He hung back as she parted the crowds and found them a bare spot on a grass-covered hill near a pecan tree. They sat down opposite one another under the shade of the tree and settled their guitars in their laps.

Laverne watched Lenny tune his instrument, still unsure about how to do the same thing with hers. Laverne fiddled with the knobs on the neck of it, causing the much dreaded TWANG of a guitar string shattering to puncture the air.

"You got a spare?" she asked him. 

Lenny reached into the back pocket of his pants and withdrew a long silver strand and held it out to her. Unthreading the broken string, she carefully replaced it.

"What do you know?" she asked, carefully strumming. Her guitar made a cool, clear noise in the chatter-clouded air.

"I can fake almost anything," Lenny said, resting his thumb against the fretboard. "Whattya know?"

"Some Beatles, some Stones, some Dylan, a little classical..."

"How about 'Like a Rolling Stone'?"

She nodded. "Okay..." that was one of the few songs she knew from memory - and as she made the first chord with her right hand, she realized Lenny knew that and had selected the song just because she knew it.

"One, two, three," he counted for her. Eyes closed, Laverne joined him, her right hand moving automatically down the neck as her left strummed. Lenny sang – Laverne’s ability to do two things at once had been robbed from her.

And it was like magic, playing with him. Musically, they'd always fit well together, even though Lenny had more experience and a nicer singing voice than she did; she could sing low and slip around and beneath the hitch in his baritone, making the counterpoints of their voices mix well together. When they hit the bridge, she looked toward him to see if she was doing as well as she believed; Lenny caught her eye with a big smile - and she grinned back without thinking.

As the song finished, she wondered why she couldn't find such perfect rhythm with anyone else. They locked eyes, and he finished with one dramatic strum across the frets.

It was the applause that startled them out of their private world; a small gathering had watched them play and sing, and threw flowers at their feet in tribute. Lenny smiled and bowed his head in response; Laverne remained absorbed in Lenny and barely waved to their enthusiasm.

"Do you know 'Scarborough Fair'?" Lenny asked.

"No," she admitted. 

"It's easy. C D Db C D C D F."

"What?"

"Doncha know how to read music?" he gaped at her 

Laverne drew herself up straight and true. "I play by ear."

"Tin ear," he teased when she frowned. "Yanno, we sound good together," he added, tuning his guitar a step lower. 

"Yeah," she admitted, surprised by the shyness tingling over her skin.

"That's good. When we get married we can play together any time you want."

Instead of dignifying that with a response, she said, "C, D?"

"Yeah," he said roughly. "C."

They spent most of the afternoon teaching each other songs; for every Beatles number he knew by heart there was a Kinks song he couldn't quite master the fingering for. At around two she noticed her stomach was grumbling.

"Can you get us some hot dogs?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "I got cash..."

"I got enough," Lenny said. "Wanna soda?"

"Pepsi, please."

"Okay. Watch Mister Chimey for me," he requested.

It took her a few moments to realize that 'Mister Chimey' was his guitar - and not his penis. The childlike name he'd given the instrument brought Laverne back to reality, reminding her that another strike against Lenny was his immaturity, and that she wanted a to marry a grown-up.

Like her Pop.

She winced sourly. No, nothing like judgmental, pressuring, dour Frank. Well, maybe kind like him - generous, protective - loving...

Like Lenny?

Laverne lay down in the grass and looked blindly at the cloud-frosted sky. What was really so bad about Lenny, in the big scope of life? Hygiene and morality issues aside, of course, she winced. Why had she only contemplated marriage to him in her most desperate hours when she'd dated thieves and gang members? Was she that fixated on finding a big, tough, strong hero who would take her away from the drudgery of Bardwells and make her a mommy? Did she have a thing for authority figures?

Shirley, in one of her moments of pop psychological insight, had claimed to Laverne that she had the inverse of a Madonna/whore complex. "You could call it a saint/bastard complex in your case," Shirleys said, blushing on using the latter word. Was that true? Did she paint every man she met as either a protecting hero or a pulse-increasing villain?

Lenny interrupted her thoughts with a round of hot dogs and soda. "Thanks," she smiled, taking her food from his open palms and blushing when they made contact. 

If she had a saint/bastard complex, why did it feel good to touch him?

***

"You wanna go home?"

She wiped her ketchup-stained mouth with the back of her hand. "It's only 5."

"That's close enough to sunset. We can watch it go down together," he said. She put the suggestion out of her mind for the next hour as they finished swapping repertoires. After they'd finished the wisdom exchange, Lenny took the guitars back to the truck and returned to sit with her.

As he sat down, he grabbed her around the waist and pulling her close to him. Her face collided with his shoulder and she endured the embrace; sweat had dampened his shirt, and she could feel the moisture through her thin plaid shirt. His cologne assaulted her nose, and his hands were greasy from the French fries they'd shared.

But she had to admit it felt nice to rest against his belly, to feel his heart beat against her shoulder blade and listen to his breath billow into her ear.

"I can't see the sunset," she pointed out, and gently Lenny turned her around.

The sky was golden-orange, with cotton-candy colored clouds, the sun blood colored as it descended. It was startlingly beautiful.

Lenny remarked, "you ever see a sun that big?"

"The sun's always big."

"I mean - it makes me feel real tiny next to it. Yanno, like a ladybug. Or a tapeworm."

"Eww."

"It's beautiful, and I'm glad I'm sharing it with someone pretty like you."

The romance in his voice made her feel horribly guilty, but their gazes met, and suddenly it felt right to incline her head as his descended. 

She leaned in toward him, his plump lips parting slightly as they touched. Her tongue slipped into his mouth just as his cleared her teeth. His hand ghosted over her jaw and through her hair to rest on the back of her neck.

Her body softened, moistened; her nipples erected. She felt comfortable enough to lie in his arms for the rest of her life and aroused enough to unzip and take him right there in front of the strangers walking the nearby bike path. Kissing him was such a strangely natural act that it felt like the first step toward a bed and his body on hers...

They broke apart, lungs aching for air. He looked down at her as if she were precious, delicate, and rare - as if letting go of her would be a big mistake. 

"Wanna come up to my place?" Lenny asked, his voice deep with a new arousal.

She nodded.

***

The drive back to Laurel Vista seemed interminable, made worse by the usual Saturday evening flux of traffic tying to make it in to Hollywood. Cars bleared by them, honking erratically and Lenny shouted rude, coarse things out the window in his frustration. But they shared no words, too wrapped up in their private agonies, the pulsing of their private flesh and the promise of what might happen.

They found home and parked, and without another word walked up to Lenny's deserted apartment.

She stood on the cluttered living room floor while he nervously turned on the overhead lights and took off his jacket. Laverne felt every muscle in her body tense as she waited for him to grab her - to throw her down on the bed and end the agonizing tension. Instead, he pulled out a chair at his kitchen table and pulled out a pack of cards, then dealt her a hand.

"Gin," he said. 

The tension in her body became agonized. "WHAT?"

"Let's play cards."

"Why?"

He licked his lips nervously. "I just wanna!"

She sat down and took the hand he dealt. "Why don't we make a little wager to make this more interesting?"

His eyebrow rose. "Sounds dangerous."

She leaned over the table. "Why don't we make a bet?"

"You mean like the time I had to eat a whole jar of hot peppers 'cause I bet on the Blue Jays when Squig picked the Dodgers?"

"Yeah, but a lot less painful," she said. "Best two out of three."

"Okay - what's the wager?"

She thought for a moment, then leaped at the chance. "If I win," she said, "we break off this engagement."

"Okay. If I win," Lenny said, "we do it."

She almost choked on her own tongue. 

"Laverne?" he worried. "I don't wanna make you do something you don't wanna do. You can say no, and nothing'll change."

But she wanted something, her bouncing nerves demanded succor - a day filled with intimacy and shared interests had left her open to him in every way. "Let's do this."

She played surprisingly well for a woman well-distracted by her own libido. Then again, Lenny was a horrible bluffer and an even worse card player. She beat him easily in the first hand, and the second.

It all came down to this. She didn't want to make him feel bad, so she threw the hand. That led to another - to another thrown hand, and an even break for Lenny.

She went into the sixth hand with confidence, never imagining that he had the wherewithal to beat her. He asked her for sixes, she gave him one - she got an eight back from him. She only needed a jack when he triumphantly put down his full house.

"Gin," he said.

Laverne stared at the cards laid out on the cheap folding table. She looked up into his radiant face and back down at the cards, trying not to show how unnerved and pleased she was by this turn of events.

"So," he grinned, "you got a rubber?"

"I'm on the pill," she mumbled. "Len?"

He leaned back in his chair, visibly hurt but relieved as well. "Okay. We can wait for the wedding night if you want."

She almost agreed, but there would be no wedding night with this man. Maybe all they would have is one night of bliss before they broke apart their friendship, bitter because of the silliness of this game. She made her choice by lurching across the table and kissed him - shutting their mouths, enrapturing them in the world they shared.

He pulled her forward, until she was lying belly-down on the table in the riff-raff of cards and other unidentifiable debris. Her arms went around his neck, his hand went down her blouse.

Laverne's mind buzzed dizzily, but the reasoning, practical part of her acclaimed herself to what was about to happen. So they would fuck, she decided. She'd had casual sex before, without guilt or shame. She could do the same with him - he'd get what he wanted, she'd get what she needed, it would be over - they would go back to being friends.

Then she would tell him the engagement was over.

Their bet provided her with a perfect excuse - he would be bad in bed, she would say they couldn't satisfy each other, they would break up, sadder but wiser. The charade would be over and she could get back to her life as a swinging single in mod-ern California.

Her hand snuck under the table, patting the rising ridge in his pants. "S'that a rocket in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

The front door flew open, abbreviated her question. "Hello!" Squiggy yelled, dragging two suitcases. He eyed the red-faced and panting couple as they pulled apart and Laverne clambered off the table. "I told ya, Len - don't do bimbos on the table! It leaves rings!"

Laverne's lips puckered in a display of nausea. "I'm gettin out of here..."

"Laverne, don't go! I got my tongue all limbered up!" Lenny yelled.

Squiggy stepped between the two of them, trapping Lenny in the apartment. "Waitaminute, I gotta show you my slides from Pewaukee!"

Laverne slammed the door as Lenny and Squiggy continued to argue, running back to her apartment and - for once - locking the door behind her.

She was alone - that would normally force her to worry about Shirley, but she'd taped a note to the lampshade. _Laverne: Morning sickness better, going out with Walter to see 'Gidget', be home by ten. Love, Shirley._

It was only seven now - plenty of time to sulk. Or, she thought, feeling the tension still lingering in her belly, something much more fun...

She stripped out of her clothing, tossing it all over the bedroom until she stood nude before her bed. She sat down at the left side of it, opened her dresser drawer and dug beneath old copies of True Confession and wadded-up phone numbers to find her seven-inch vulcanized rubber pal, James Dean. 

James had been the third acquaintance Laverne had met in California, and his 'friendship' had outlasted Sonny's 'love' for her by months already. People could complain about her about having too many boyfriends, but no one knew about James - well, except for Shirley. THAT had been an interesting spring cleaning. She slicked James up with Vaseline and plugged him in, remembering Shirley's cautioning words. Don't use the high-speed too much, Laverne. It'll make you go numb 'down there'.

Laverne smirked as she threw back the covers and squirmed between them. James made her anything but numb 'down there' she thought, as she closed her eyes and immersed herself in her favorite fantasy, her left hand going to her breast and plucking the center of her right, gently.

 _The faceless man in her fantasy had her laid out on the beach, his muscular shoulders flexing as they French kissed. His hand worked the zipper on her swimsuit down, revealing golden flesh to the rays of light painting their bodies. His duty was to please her, so her spent minutes licking her nipples, blowing cool air and sucking on them until she began to writhe...  
_   
She was writhing now, too, both of her nipples puckered and tingling. Her right hand drifted low and began to tease the rising flesh of her clit.

_The man in her fantasy moved a little slower, kissing her thighs and all around her mons before placing his tongue in the ridge of her labia. Slow little licks, up and down, before he found her clit and began to work it over with gentle suction and teasing tongue..._

In real life, her fingers did all of the work - making her wet. Making her throb. She gabbed James from the nightstand and slid his slick length down her torso, over her clit, then deep into herself where her inner muscles flexed and released, flexed and released. She didn't even need to turn James on, but she clicked him into first gear. Flexing and releasing, she continued the fantasy.

_Now the stranger was on her, in her, working his hips evenly and carefully. Never was he too rough or too soft - never did he come too quickly and kick her out of his place unfulfilled. He was the perfect man, existing only to protect her, to love her, to provide unlimited orgasms..._

A real orgasm was building - she felt the familiar almost paralyzing tension begin on the soles of her feet, racing up the back of her legs. She was moaning loudly, squeezing her own breasts, flexing in time with the vibrator. She dialed James up to the medium setting.

_She was ready to burst, her arms tangled about his neck. She called out, incoherent, on the knife's edge of orgasm. Just before she contracted around him, his face transformed from blurry to sharp-featured; his skin from tanned to pale, his musculature from a bodybuilder's to a working man's._

_His eyes to blue._

"LENNY," she called into the darkness, bending herself into shapes a contortionist might envy, the pleasure- wracking her so divine that she bit her palm to keep from screaming anything more revealing. So quickly the pleasure-agony was over and she dropped back to the real world, weak-limbed, sated, sleepy. She almost didn't have the energy to shut off the vibrator and unplug it.

Dizzily, she got up, cleansed it and hid it away again for further use, then tossed on a nightshirt and prepared for dreamless sleep, too exhausted to even question her Lenny fantasy.

But peace was interrupted by a knock at the door.

WHY did Shirley have to forget her keys at the worst possible time?! Stumbling downstairs, Laverne didn't even bother to turn on a light. 

Silhouetted by the hall lights, he stood there, his eyes electric and filled with life.

It was as if she'd never come. Her knees felt weak with anticipation - had he heard her moaning and coming, calling his name? She watched Lenny silently, then changed course and grinned briefly before bringing her arm up and running her pussy juice-scented fingers along the outline of his lips. 

His tongue lashed out, sucking them into his mouth, drinking in her taste; his teeth scraped her and she withdrew them.

They were locked in an embrace, eye to eye, the kisses crushing and uncompromising. Together they stumbled backward up the stairs.

The clatter of the door being swept aside was only dwarfed by her surprised cry as he took her into his arms and carried her two steps to her bed.

As he sunk down over her body and began to kiss her frantically, she realized they had both won everything they'd been gambling on.


	6. Chapter 6

Laverne groaned as Lenny pressed her fiercely against the bedroom wall, gluing his mouth to hers. She cried out in protest of his roughness, enjoying the thrill it gave her at the same time. God, everything she felt for him was so painfully contrary!

His hands found the edge of her nightshirt and she let him pull it over her head and his eyes streaked up and down her body furiously. Suddenly she was on her back on the middle of her bed, and Lenny was shucking his jeans and tee-shirt off. His long, pale body slammed down on hers and she entangled her limbs around him, drawing him into the hot well of her body.

He thrust fiercely, jarring her bones and the bed, making her hips jerk up in response to his every gesture. "Did you think about this?" he asked, squeezing her breasts with his left hand, balanced on his right, "did you think 'bout me sticking it in you? S'that why you're so hot?"

Laverne responded by bucking up, beyond finding offense at his language. He talked endlessly about how hot she was, how wet she was, how he was going to do this to her until they were too tired to move, then he would wake her up and do it again. She moaned and reached down, her hand teasing his balls, throwing the balance in her favor.

The dual sensations of wet pussy and soft fingers broke Lenny's willpower. In two jarring thrusts she was drenched to the tune of his regret-filled moaning. They lay hyperventilating together, body to body, alone in the pitch darkness. She was so stunned by the violence of the act that she failed to notice she had the ammunition she needed. 

"What happened?" she wondered.

"You got me all worked up," Lenny replied. She saw worry flicker across his face. "Are you on the...?"

"Yeah, I didn’t lie, I'm on the pill," she said.

Lenny sighed, and she shifted her hips. Deep within her she felt him expanding in response.

"Oh!" she said, surprised by the sensation. She looked up into his face through the dim light of the evening and saw a wicked grin on his face.

"You ain't ever had a guy who could go twice in a night?" he asked.

"I ain't had as many guys as you think," Laverne said, then regretted revealing.

"I shoulda guessed - you're pretty tight," he winced. "Do you hurt?"

His affection softened her. "No, Len - I don't hurt."

He looked down at her for a few minutes, watching her face in the light. His kiss surprised her, his lips raining sweetness down on her skin. The second time he was as gentle as a feather caressing a kitten but no less passionate.

They lay in the darkness afterward, holding hands. Laverne eyed her doom as he watched her back, big blue eyes filled with love for her.

He wanted to marry her. He was GOING to marry her if she didn't stop him. 

What do I want? Laverne wondered. Had he come back here to use her as per their bet, or to make his claim on her as a wife? It would be a miracle if he had come up here to touch her out of love.

"So, Missus Kosnowski-to-be," he said, "wanna go downstairs and get a snack?"

Laverne was bereft of words. 

"Laverne! Come down here!"

Her green eyes widened. "SHIRLEY," she mouthed to Lenny, and Lenny's antic face made her wish she could laugh. Laverne grabbed her discarded clothing from the floor and dressed hurriedly as Lenny did the same.

Downstairs, Shirley waited, Doctor Walter on her arm. Shirley's eyebrow arched at the sight of Lenny coming out of their bedroom. "Hey, Shirl," Laverne said blandly. 

"Laverne, we've come to collect you," Walter said brusquely. "Could you retrieve Shirley's gown from her bedroom and pack an overnight bag? The minister's office closes at midnight."

"Which minister?"

Shirley smiled. "Walter decided we shouldn't wait any more - after all, he might be shipped out at any time..."

"That's right - make hay while the sun shines, I always say..."

"You're getting married? Tonight?" Laverne bit down the panic she felt.

"Yes we are," Walter smiled. "I just couldn't wait to be with my honeybunch."

"And I can't wait to be with my Wallybear."

"Wallykins, honey. I preffer Wallykins."

Laverne shot Lenny a desperate glance, and he, naturally, interrupted her request the wrong way. "You got room for one more?"

Walter eyed Lenny distastefully, but Shirley gave his hand a sharp squeeze. "Sure, why not?" Walter smiled, his eyes refusing to touch on Lenny.

"Okay, I'll go pack my bag, Lenny'll go pack his bag, and Shirley'll wait in the car with you," Laverne decided. "Where'd you find a preacher to wait up for you? It's past eight."

"Oh, I know a father who lives in a room at a winery," Walter shrugged. "He collects expensive Beaujolais. Disgusting habit, but he could have worse ones."

Fear kissed Laverne's neck. "Winery?"

"Oh yes, be sure to take a tinkle before you leave," Walter smiled at the gathered group. "It's three hours out to the Sonoma Valley!"


	7. Chapter 7

Shirley eyed her best friend curiously as Walter took the off-ramp to the Sonoma Throughway. Laverne stared beyond the window into the dark two-am world, which in the valley meant deserted highways and miles of waving grass. The fauna couldn't be that interesting; Shirley knew that whatever Laverne was thinking about had to involve Lenny and her time upstairs with him.

"Here we are!" Walter sing-songed, grabbing her hand and giving it a quick squeeze. "Honeybunch, take Laverne through the back door - the green one marked "guests only" and tell them you're here for the Meeney-Feeney wedding." He ignored Lenny's laughter. "You're coming with me," Walter said, "I'm sure they have something presentable for you to wear..."

Lenny obediently left with Walter, and Shirley grabbed her dress from its hook on the ice cream truck's door. She felt a worrying sickness in the pit of her stomach and forced it down, shaking Laverne's shoulder.

"Wah?" Laverne asked, without turning to face her.

"We're in Sonoma," Shirley said. Laverne didn't move. "At least you could be happy for me, Laverne."

"I am happy for you," Laverne told the window.

"No you're not. You think I'm making a mistake."

"I’m tired of talking about this, Shirl. If you wanna get married, you wanna get married – I can’t make you stop." Her defeated words were mitigated by the challenging spark in Laverne’s eyes.

Shirley tried to look unaffected. "So I'm settling for Walter," Shirley stroked the cap sleeve of her beautiful white dress, then cuddled it against her chest. "I need to be married before everyone figures out this baby couldn't possibly be his."

"That ain't a good reason to do this."

The dress hit her lap. "And an empty game isn't a reason for you to have sex with Lenny Kosnowski."

THAT did it; Laverne turned around, her cheeks flaming. "What difference does it make what I do, Shirl?" Laverne snapped. "I moved all the way across the country, I don't have a Mister Right, and you have two!”

Shirley flushed. “Walter isn’t my mister right!” Laverne’s smug expression made Shirley shout, “you gave yourself away to somebody just because you’re lonely.”

“If I don't got love, I might as well have a little fun!"

"Was that all that was?"

Both women looked up to see Lenny standing outside of the truck, his mouth down tuned. 

Laverne's eyes were mean. "What did you think all this was, Len?" she snapped. "Did you think I was in love with you all of a sudden?"

"Laverne," Shirley whispered. 

"No, you was right, Shirl - I shoulda nipped this in the bud before it got outta hand!" She climbed out of the van and uttered with venom, "you remember when I turned into something for you and Squig to bet on? Well, the joke's on you, Kosnowski, 'cause this second this old maid said she wanted you, you made wedding plans!" 

Lenny grinned, his own expression hardening. "And the second I offered you a little slice of my body you jumped on it. You know what they say about girls like that, don't you Vernie? Or ain't you been by a back alley lately?"

Laverne surged up, reaching out to attack him, and only Shirley's arms held her back. "The two of you are behaving like a couple of unreasonable morons!" Shirley snapped. 

"Oh, a MORON am I?!" Lenny snapped. "I wasn't a MORON three hours ago when your best friend was begging me not to stop screwing her, was I Laverne?"

"You know us back-alley girls," Laverne snapped. "When we're in heat, we'd settle for the WALL."

"STOP IT. THE BOTH OF YOU STOP IT!"

"STOP IT, YOU'RE GETTING SHIRLEY UPSET!" Laverne and Lenny yelled at each other simultaneously. 

The silence that followed was filled with recrimination. Exhaustion wracked Shirley, and she plead, "could we please go inside?" 

"Sorry, Shirl," Laverne scooted out of the van and then helped Shirley out. 

“Yeah, we lost our heads,” Lenny said, his eyes poisonous while he took Shirley’s other arm.

“Let's go get you married!" Laverne glared at Lenny, not giving him an inch.

“Yeah. Let’s get married,” Lenny said, looking right through Shirley. 

Shirley felt her smile tremble. "Yes, let's go."

***

"So, no second thoughts?" 

Shirley barely heard Laverne’s question as she stared at her reflection; the puffy white gown and long veil hid all of her flaws but the fact that she stood in a public bathroom with wine-colored toilet seats. "I wish I'd gotten a shorter veil."

Laverne turned Shirley to face her. "Are you sure you wanna go through with this?"

"I have to."

"Shirl, you don't gotta do anything. This is 1964...."

"Exactly; this is 1964 and in seven months I'm going to bring a little baby into this world," Shirley pulled the veil down over her eyes, hiding her frustrated tears. "A baby whose father probably doesn’t want him.”

“How are you gonna tell Carmine?”

“If Carmine cared about me, he would’ve called me. He would have sent me postcards.”

“Shirl, he’s…” Laverne stopped herself. “In the middle of the woods right now. It ain’t like there’s phones out there!”

“He never should have left in the first place,” she whirled around. “Could you zip me up?"

Laverne reached back and zipped her best friend’s gown, then linked her arm through Shirley's. They walked out of the tiny bathroom and down a long maroon-carpeted hallway. They took a right and strode right up to a white-covered door speckled with lilies. 

When Laverne threw it open Shirley was hit smack in the face with a wall of steam. Through her gauzy cover she saw a walkway leading to a gazebo perched right in the center of a swimming pool. 

It took a few moments for everything to set in. She was going to get married on a gazebo in the middle of a swimming pool. Without the wedding march playing in the background. To a man who kept his socks and watch on while they made love...

Abruptly, she heard a low humming - Lenny's - calling her across the bridge and to the pool, where Walter arrogantly waited with Lenny and the sleepy-looking minister. She forced a smile and took her hand from Shirley's, placing it in Walter's. He sighed, rearranging her fingers until she held his hand 'his' way - undoubtedly the right way to him...

The minister said something she didn't hear, her head was so filled with buzzing. Someone was calling her name. 

"I do," she mumbled.

"Shirley?" 

It wasn't Walter.

She pivoted around and saw her boyfriend, the father of her baby, standing in the doorway in his bathrobe.

She spat out the only words that came to mind. 

"What are you doing here?"


	8. Chapter 8

Laverne saw Shirley's face go as pale as the lace of her dress as she blindly moved out of Walter's touch and walked down the short gangway.

"What are you doing here?" she wondered, looking at his brown paisley smoking jacket with clear confusion. Laverne's heart lurched as she realized her friend still couldn't think the worst of Carmine, even as the evidence spat in her eye.

"I've been looking for you," Carmine said, a smooth half-lie as he glared up at Walter. "Who's the twerp?"

Walter drew himself straight and tight, putting his hand on Shirley's arm. "Her fiance. Who do you think you are?"

"Fiance?" Carmine asked, pain entering his tone.

Shirley lifted her chin and looked straight into his eye. "His name is Walter, and yes, I'm going to marry him, Carmine."

Carmine's mouth drooped open, his shock muting his reaction. "You can't!" he finally squawked.

Shirley brought her bouquet up protectively. "You've been gone for so long," unconsciously, her hand pressed to her abdomen as she added, "you never called, you never wrote..."

"I was out in the middle of the wood's til last week. I've just been busy working up this big deal," he grinned and took her hand, dusting the deck with petals. "Guess who's in the running to play Rocky Marciano at Paramount!"

A little gasp of delight left Shirley's lungs and she flung herself into Carmine's arms. 

"You mean - all this time you've been trying to make a future for us? Oh, Carmine!"

Nervously, he looked down at her. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, Shirl, trying to figure out what I want out of life. Now that I got a real job, I know that what I really want is you," he sunk down on bended knee, "would you marry me?"

A blush suffused Shirley's cheeks. "Yes, oh yes!" He jumped to his feet and squeezed her tight against him-over his shoulder Laverne saw her friend's expression changed. "Carmine," she said out of the blue, "I'm pregnant." 

Laverne didn't need to see Carmine's expression - the sudden stiffness of his shoulders and the chalky cast of his neck spoke a dictionary.

Laverne felt disgust wash over her - why couldn't Carmine be a grown-up and accept responsibility for once in his life? Why couldn't he admit his own faults? _Be a man and own up!_ , she urged him mentally, _don't go into a marriage with a big lie! Not like..._ Rage ran through her, coursing and turning the fine hair on her arms to bristles - she lept when Lenny's hand suddenly caressed her arm and she turned, her frown so intense that his expression became more submissive. When he looked at her that way she forgot her deep fury.

"I guess everything's gonna be okay now," Lenny said. 

She jerked a thumb in his Carmine's direction. "He looks like he's gonna throw up!"

"He'll shake it off," Lenny shrugged.

"Carmine's never scared! Oh boy, look at him shake!" Laverne worried. "Len, I don't think he's ready to be a dad..."

"You think we shoulda told Shirl everything?" Lenny wondered. She didn't indicate her thoughts either way, but he seemed to understand her concern. He caressed her from elbow to wrist. "Stop worrying about it. You didn't want Shirl to get hurt."

"But he can still hurt her," Laverne said. "She still don't know he's been here the whole time..." 

"She don't ever have to know." Lenny's voice was the vessel of his romanticism. "Now they can get married and the baby'll have a name!"

Laverne saw Walter sit down beside the stone-still minister, his expression grim but determined. "What about him?" Laverne asked. 

Lenny had blocked Walter's existence out. "Aww, don't worry about Wally. I'll be his friend! We can even go to the Lido Des Girls on Friday to soften the blow," Lenny stage-whispered, "that's ice-cube night!"

A smile crossed Laverne's lips as she secretly wondered what the girls did with ice cubes. Able to see Walter's stricken features and Lenny's hopeful countenance, she was suddenly sick of pain, both inflicting and absorbing it. Staring at the little diamond ring glinting on her finger, Laverne recalled the selfishness with which she had lived the past few days. Enlivened, she reached down and twisted the glittering band until it came off her finger. "Here," she said, placing it in his curled right hand, "I don't got no right to wear this."

Lenny stared at the tiny diamond band glittering on his huge palm. "Nah, Laverne - keep it," he said, gently closing the ring back into her open hand. The metal heated between their palms. "I didn't mean it," he said thickly. "Those names I called you. I don't think you're easy, and I don't think you're an old maid."

She didn't posess the will to continue their fight; arguing with Lenny, after all, was like punching a puppy. "I don't think you're a moron - most of the time," she added, her eyes on the tranquil water of the pool. "We were both so angry, Len - I coulda ripped your ducktail off right there in the parking lot."

"I coulda yanked off your "L"," he said speedily when her hand tightened on his, "but I wouldn't've."

They laughed about it - a cleansing gesture. They would fight again but such low words would never be exchanged. Confessions escaped her slackened lips. "I think it's 'cause we're confused."

Lenny laughed self-depreciatingly. "That's me - but you always know what you wanna do, Vernie."

"Yeah - I used to," she said softly, looking into the blue eyes reflected on the rippling surface. "My brains're all messed up," she confessed. "I had a really good time with you today - I've been having a pretty good time with you, for longer than I can think back - when we're alone," she added, remembering that wherever Lenny went, Squiggy was usually attached to his thigh. There was a problem to consider. 

Lenny's smile was tender. "Nah," he said. "I know hanging around with me ain't exactly your favorite thing."

"Len, how many times do I got to tell you? You're a terrific guy!"

"Terrific," he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "terrific and dateless."

"Hey," she poked his side, "what about me, the 'future missus Kosnowski'?"

He shook his head. "But you don't wanna marry me."

"Uh huh - it's a little soon for that. We just went out on our first real date today, yanno."

He pressed himself against her hip. "You saying what I think you're saying?"

She pressed her palms to his chest as he boxed her against the gazebo railing with his hips. "I don't know where this is gonna go. I don't wanna take what happened and stick it in a box and pretend we didn't do what we done, but I'm still all messed up, Len. I just know it's new, and I wanna little time to figure out what all of this," she gestured at the space between them, "Is."

Lenny's jaw solidified. "Maybe ain't good enough, Vernie. I waited years for you and I ain't gonna twist up my guts for years 'cause I'm afraid you're gonna dump me."

"Maybe I ain't ever gonna dump you," Laverne suggested. "Maybe someday you and me are gonna be doing this...without all the water."

"I thought friends went on forever."

She smiled. "Maybe I ain't just your friend," she suggested. 

"Huh huh," he laughed, his grin infectiously huge as he seemed to recall just why they were more than friends. 

"LENNY," she said, punching his shoulder.

He rubbed the inch of flesh she'd socked and frowned at her. "That ain't no way to show it."

"How about this way?" she tilted his chin down and kissed his lips.

The meeting of their mouths was brief but love-blessed; when his palms pressed flat against her back and began to look for her zipper she stepped backward to break the kiss. Lenny became exuberant, stuffing his palm into his mouth, dancing back and forth. He jabbed his finger in her direction. "Laverne, you _like_ me!"

Laverne smiled, her buck teeth poking out unbecomingly as she grinned - and knew he loved it when she smiled that way.

 _"YOU LIKE ME MORE THAN A FRIEND,"_ he said, astonished.

She just plucked a red carnation from her drugstore corsage and tucked it behind his ear, then walked away to take her place beside the minister.

***

Shirley had felt her boyfriend's form turn to rock against her breast, but the paleness of his olive features made her worry for his health. "Carmine?"

The words rolled from his lips. "How? We were careful..."

The words caused an awful iciness to coat her stomach. "In May."

She saw his eyes dart as he thought back, then memories flamed to life and his knees turning to gelatin. He remembered that night as well as she did, the torn rubber on his couch. They'd both hoped it was a minor mistake. 

But it's not - he said he loves me, Shirley reminded herself. He had asked her to marry him before he knew - proof of his faultless devotion. She grinned and wrapped her arms around his middle. "Should we do it today?"

"What?"

She pulled away and looked into his tense, pale face. "Get married! We have a preacher, Laverne's here - Lenny could stand up for you."

"Shirl," his voice cracked and he cleared it, "we don't got a license. It won't count."

In her giddiness she'd never realized that. "It would count in here, Carmine," she pointed to her breast. 

He relaxed visibly. "Oh," he smiled. "I'm sorry, Shirl, I'm kinda..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustrated muteness. "Are you really sure?"

Fear squeezed her breast. "Do you think I would lie to trap you?"

"No," Carmine said sharply, "you ain't doing any trapping. I asked before you told me..." he looked over her shoulder at Walter. "You were gonna marry him and not tell me about the baby," he said suddenly.

Shirley flushed. "No...I was always planning to let you know, Carmine, I swear on Grandma Wilhelmina's soul," she dramatically insisted, which made the corner of his mouth twitch with muffled laughter. "But I wasn't going to force you to marry me, either."

"Does Walter know?"

"Yes," she said. "We've never been intimate - it's never mattered."

"Did you ever love him?" His hand pressed strongly on the fine bone of her wrist.

Despite herself, Shirley enjoyed the note of jealousy in his tone. "Walter's been a good friend, and a comfort to me."

"That's all he can do - comfort you," Carmine snorted. "He's gotta be pushing seventy."

She couldn't bring herself to insult Walter, who sat watching them with keen, angry eyes. "He's been a gentleman, and his only crime is his overprotective ness."

Carmine's hand drifted down over her left hand, her red-painted fingertips. "You didn't answer my question."

"I love Walter in a different way, like you would a favorite uncle."

He smiled triumphantly. "As a friend."

"Yes," she admitted. "You have to understand why I did this..."

Carmine pressed himself against her, holding her hand as he did when they slow-danced. "It don't matter. I forgive you, Shirl! Let's just forget all of this happened and go back home."

Exhausted, with Carmine's small diamond on her ring finger, Shirley was ready to agree when she saw a rotund woman push open the pool room's door.

The creature inhabiting the doorframe was at least six feet tall, with an enormous beehive of nuclear-winter-white hair, oversized pink cat's eye sunglasses and a fluffy leopard-print wrap worn over a green off-the-shoulder blouse and black petal pushers several sizes too small for her generous curves. "CAHHH-Mine," she drawled in a bizarre accent that could only have been conceived in Hollywood, "I found you! Cummon, the campaign just came."

Shirley felt her stomach tighten, as if the baby were pinching it with it's little fingers. Carmine, visibly horrified, had turned a livid shade of red.

"Careen," Carmine hissed in a tone that danced the line between intimacy and anger, "you said you had to go back to LA."

She shrugged. "It's too foggy out there to drive. And it's much warmer in here...Rocky."

Carmine glowed. "Yeah?"

Her smile was reptilian. “Maybe...if you'll come up and give me one of your foot rubs..."

"So this was your fishing trip?" Shirley's voice cut through the conversation. All of the hope in Carmine's expression drained away. "You lied to me."

Shirley watched a bead of sweat form on Carmine's forehead and slither down his roman nose. "We both lied," Carmine attempted, "for the right reasons."

"To make a future for the baby? Or for money?" she said bitterly, staring at garish Careen who looked back at the tiny brunette in pity.

Careen turned to Carmine, "I'm upstairs," she smoothly avoided meeting Shirley's eyes as she turned and departed.

"Shirl, you don't know how Hollywood works!" Carmine's voice took on a whine that was so uncharacteristic that she winced. "Sometimes you gotta grease the wheel."

A chill descended over Shirley as she remembered how often Carmine felt the need to grease that wheel whenever he was short of money. It dawned on her that he always put the responsibility for his shady choices on wanting to improve life for her - thus squarely on her shoulders and not his. 

"What about the next time?" she wondered. "What if we run short some odd week and I need formula and you decide to run an 'errand' for someone in a rough neighborhood and end up with a bullet in the back of your head? Where would that leave me and little Toddy?"

"You've been watching too many soaps, Shirl."

"I'm not being dramatic. You've worked for mobsters and loan sharks just to get me a box of chocolates and a night at La Fondue - and somehow you still don't understand that I'd rather go hungry than see you get hurt," she said sadly.

He could see the battle was lost but he said desperately, "I'll promise I'll go upstairs and tell Careen the deal's off.

Helplessly, she lowered her head. "You've already been with her for a whole week. The damage is more than done."

"Please! I'll never see her again..."

"When will you learn that all of the promises in the world mean nothing to me if you're not grown up enough to keep them?"

Walter noted from the gazebo, "speaking of keeping promises, I'd like to keep mine before the license runs out."

Carmine snarled. "You ain't marrying my girlfriend!"

"She stopped being your girlfriend when you abandoned her. And may I add, mister Ragusa, that it's up to Shirley who she marries."

"Don't get your hopes up, Wally, 'cause she's gonna marry me!"

"I think she's practical enough to pick a man with a steady job over a deadbeat gigolo!"

The two men bristled at each other, exchanging further dollops of venom like two junkyard dogs fighting over a bone. They circled Shirley protectively, and there, she realized, was her future - the baby's future - boiled down to two options: a life of love with the distinct possibility it would lack trust or a life of stability without passion. As her scattered thoughts raced to find an answer they drew focus on dusty memories of her parents and a marriage that began in passion but had ended in drunken shame and was continued on as a mockery years after it had stopped functioning. Her wish formed a bubble deep within her gut, and rose up, spreading a glow of irritation across her pale skin. It formed in her brain and pushed outward, releasing her. I deserve more.

She had spoken them aloud, she realized, when both men turned and stared at her curiously.

"You'll get it with me, Shirl," Carmine said, taking her right hand. "I'll give you the world, the whole moon, anything you want."

"Shirley," Walter said, standing and walking down the gangway, "stop being unreasonable. We've got a busy day ahead of us and you know you get cranky on anything less than five hours of sleep..."

She locked eyes with her best friend, who stood on the tips of her toes ready to enter the fray. The words she needed appeared.

"I'll never stop you from seeing the baby," she said to Carmine. "But me being pregnant's changed everything. We both need time to adjust to what's happened without worrying about marriage."

His features turned downward as Walter's beady little eyes showed triumph.

"And I've appreciated your looking after me," Shirley said to Walter, "but we can only be friends. And you treat me like a half-wit! I’m just starting to understand myself, and the important things in life don’t have anything to do with propriety – it’s about making a healthy environment for Carmine Junior. 

“Carmine Junior?” Carmine Senior laughed.

“I'm tired of letting guys make all of the choices in my life when I'm a woman, nearly a mother, and I know what's best for me!"

"All right, Shirl!" Laverne cheered.

"I don't get it," Lenny frowned. "Which guy're you gonna marry?"

She looked into the hopeful eyes waiting for her choice - she nearly regretted the rush of truth as it set her free. 

"I'm not going to marry either of them."

***

_One year and eight months later_

***

"Happy birthday dear Meggie! Happy birthday to you!" Applause filled Cowboy Bills as the feted child clapped her little hands, a smile of glee on her lips. Her mommy knelt down on the floor beside her and showed her how to blow out the little yellow candle in her palm-sized cake.

"Auntie" Laverne had snapped into motion as the song ended, picking up a dull plastic knife and bending over the table. She carefully sunk the knife into the pony-shaped cake and began to cut it into pieces for the small gathering of guests attending her goddaughter’s first birthday.

The elastic of her pink party cone hat dug annoyingly into her chin as she rued the fact that she wasn't technically Megan Ragusa's - Meggie's - godmother - the girl hadn't been baptized yet - and she pushed away the dark cloud and handed a slice to her father as he passed by the table, then Edna.

"You look like a monkey and you smell like one too!" Squiggy cheerfully piped in, a lyric that earned him a shove from Lenny. Everyone else sighed or rolled their eyes, used to Squig's behavior and aware that he didn't mean anything by the comment.

She hacked off a piece of pony and handed it to him on a chinette plate. "Here you go, Squig - a horses' patoot. Look familiar?"

"Yeah, he sees it in the mirror every morning," Lenny cracked.

"Hey, shut up your face," Squiggy yelled, "you ain't so great-looking yourself, Romeo."

"I think Len looks great," Laverne said, exchanging a wink and a glance with Lenny. A chorus of groans went up around the table, followed by a phlegmatic harrumph from her father. Eh, screw them, she thought impishly, recalling all of the goopy sweet moments she'd played third fiddle to when Shirley and Carmine were hot and heavy, it's my turn now! Laverne cut a piece of thigh for her Len and handed it to him - their hands touched, and she got goosebumps.

"Laverne?" 

She jumped and nearly dumped the cake into his lap. "Huh?"

Frank glared down at her. "I called you three times!" he yelled.

"What's wrong?"

"Go get the chocolate ice cream out of the freezer!"

She saluted him playfully, "okay, Pop!"

Frank grumbled and sat down at the table to eat his cake. Since Meggie was so little it was impossible to have her birthday party at night, so they'd arranged for it to start at seven AM before Cowboy Bills opened. That only put stress on Frank, who was forced to dash between the party and the kitchen as he oversaw his cooks.

Laverne found the drums of ice cream - twice her size - hidden behind a raft of frozen slabs of hamburger. "I can't lift that!" she whined to Mary as she looked at the huge drum of ice cream.

"Wait," Mary said, closing the freezer and heading deeper into the kitchen, opening a dishwasher. "We'll scoop it out here."

"Sounds fine," Laverne agreed, and began helping Mary scoop out the ice cream and place it on a large tray. 

She lifted it onto her shoulder but the weight of the overlarge bowls nearly sent her tipping sideways. A strong hand helped her upright and nearly made her drop the tray in her shock.

"Can I help?"

The sound of Carmine's voice nearly made her lose her footing. "You're late!"

"Traffic on the expressway was a killer," he held out a yellow stuffed bunny. "Think she'll like it?"

Laverne peered at the little rabbit. "Sure. You missed her blowing out the candle, but the cake's still out."

"Is Shirl there?" He took two dishes of ice cream from the tray, stuffing the rabbit against his armpit.

Laverne fumbled under the weight of tray and ice-cream; Mary rushed forward and grabbed it from her hand. Unburdened, Laverne critiqued, "Carmine..."

Carmine paled a little as he thought of Shirley, forcing a smile across Laverne's face. Their relationship had become, in a word, off-kilter since the birth of their daughter, the world a sea of diapers and toe socks - for Aunt Laverne, too, who often took care of the girl while her mother worked overtime. 

"I dunno if she wants to see me, after what happened the last time I sat for Meggie."

"She's over it."

"That was her favorite sweater."

"Yeah, and purple don't look great on yellow."

Carmine raked a hand through his hair. "I didn't do it on purpose. Babies ain't got labels on them that tells you when they ate too much food."

He shook his head sternly, but his expression softened as he looked out into the restaurant. Laverne stood nearly outside the situation, watching him watch his daughter. Shirley's greatest concern had always been geared toward the development of a solid relationship between Meggie and Carmine - something she'd been denied as a child. "Do you think he wishes we didn't have her?" Shirley would often ask on those too-long days when they were all exhausted and frayed to nothingness. Looking at Carmine's expression, Laverne knew the truth - no matter what happened with Shirley, he wasn't sorry he'd made love with her and created Meggie. 

"Hey!" Lenny said, coming through the kitchen door, "what happened to the ice cream?"

Laverne rolled her eyes, putting the remaining ice-cream bowls in Carmine's hand and giving him a little push out the door. "Go see your daughter!" she snapped.

Laverne stood aside, allowing Mary to enter with the rest of the ice cream - the bunny rabbit still in her arms. She hugged it and reflected on the strangeness of this new life.

"Do I get a hug?"

She nearly swatted Lenny with the rabbit and knocked the platter of food he had picked up to the floor - two burgers, two fries and a milkshake.

"Where'd you get this?"

"I had your Pop make it up."

"Pop did this for us?" she muttered - Frank still hadn't approved of their relationship, something she struggled to come to grips with daily.

"Well - I kinda put in an order under an assumed name. Dig in, Misses Ricardo."

They sat down on a prep table, balancing the plates on their knees, Meggie's rabbit between them. Laverne enthusiastically munched her Bronco Burger, and then picked up a French fry. Before she was halfway through with the plate she noticed Lenny was lapping at the ketchup he'd dotted his fry with. 

"Whatt're you doing?"

"Just practicing my A-B-C's," he smirked. "I don't wanna get rusty."

A wonderful warmth spread through her. "The way we go at it you're never gonna forget," she retorted.

"A little extra practice don't hurt...WOAH, LOOK AT THAT!"

She turned around, like a gullible sap, but saw nothing. "What? Grease fire?"

"Sorry! Must've been a big yellow rabbit or something," he smirked and nibbled again at his fry.

Ready to explain to him exactly why rabbits couldn't inhabit the kitchen, Laverne was distracted by something glittering among the sticks of potato. 

A heady rush of pleasure filed Laverne. She lifted her head and looked into the eyes of the man she loved and waited for the words that would change her life.

He didn't quite say them. "How about Vegas?" Lenny suggested.

"No 24-hour chapels," she said sharply.

He didn't seem to remember the London Bridges but didn't press her. "Atlantic City - we can invite your Grandma."

"First you gotta ask me something," she smirked.

He grinned and took her hand. "No games this time Laverne. Marry me?"

She teased his fingers with the tips of hers. "You wanna marry me? The old maid?"

He picked up the rabbit and, hiding behind it while manipulating it, said, "Pwease, Laverne?"

"hmmm," she pretended to consider.

He was crestfallen. "Oh - I understand if you wanna marry a bigger dope..."

She squeezed his hand, mashing the potatoes in his grip. "You ain't a dope - and I ain't an old maid. We ain't any of the stuff we called each other - and the way we feel don't got nothing to do with any of the games we used to play."

"Not even the one with the chocolate frosting?"

She cleared her throat. "Some games are good," Laverne admitted, loosing her hands and picking up the ring. Lenny slipped it on her finger.

Somehow the word "yes" wasn't a necessity at the moment. As they kissed in the dim glow of the heat lamps, Laverne realized they were both winners in what had started as a foolish game and ended with a lifetime of joy.


End file.
